


underneath my outside face

by Mr_Phich



Series: everyone needs a chance to be small [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bed-Wetting, Clint Needs a Hug, Daddy!Steve, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Non-Sexual Age Play, Other, Relationship Negotiation, Trauma, Wetting, little!Clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-01 14:04:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6522841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mr_Phich/pseuds/Mr_Phich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Loki, Clint is a little more broken than he was before. Steve's always had a knack for putting broken people back together again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. a little less smiley

**Author's Note:**

> This story does contain age-play and accidents/wetting. These will be non-sexual in nature. If that's not your thing, that's cool.

_Underface_  
_Underneath my outside face_  
_There’s a face that none can see._  
_A little less smiley,_  
_A little less sure,_  
_But a whole lot more like me._

_-Shel Silverstein_

 

Steve was waiting for the elevator, worn out by a particularly long run that morning and a fitful night of sleep and not wanting to climb the six flights of stairs to the common area to scrounge for food. He’d been living in Stark Tower about a month at that point, and it was only two months after the Battle of New York.

JARVIS’ disembodied voice interrupted his thoughts. The robots’ (AI a voice that sounds like Tony’s in his head corrects) voice sounded mildly more concerned than normal. From the little experience Steve had with JARVIS, this made him very concerned.

“Captain Rogers?”

“Yes, JARVIS?”

“Mister Barton is in some sort of emotional distress and is not responsive.” Steve’s eyebrows rose of their own accord. While Clint socialized with them, he was generally withdrawn and rarely spoke to anyone but Natasha. He didn’t know why JARVIS would be calling him instead of her in this moment. And while emotional breakdowns were common enough on the team, given their collective backgrounds, somehow Steve hadn’t though Clint the type. He didn’t know why he thought that way, really. As team leader Steve had access to each of his team’s full files, including what S.H.I.E.L.D knew of them before. Clint had it as rough as any of them, maybe rougher if Steve started filling in the gaps himself - after all, ten year old boys didn’t run away from foster homes for no reason. The elevator dinged open, and Steve stepped on.

“Is Natasha not available?” Steve asked, pressing the button for Clint’s floor (two above his).  
“No, Captain. You and Mister Barton are the only Avengers here at the moment.”

The door pressed open and Steve struggled to restrain his shock. Clint was standing in the middle of the room, sobbing, a dark spot evident on the front of his pants and a puddle on the floor. It was evident the man had wet his pants. A part of Steve wanted to turn around and run from the grown man sobbing so hard he could hardly breathe, wet and childlike, where his team mate should be. But Steve wasn’t Captain America for nothing. With a deep breath, Steve walked towards Clint, body forcibly relaxed and calm. Clint startled and looked up at him with wide eyes. He made a shuddery gasping noise and his hands fell to cover his groin, as if he could somehow make the accident disappear from Steve’s gaze.

“Clint. It’s okay.” Clint only sobbed harder, shaking his head. Steve reached his team mate and very carefully reached a hand out to Clint’s shoulder. Clint was clearly completely out of it, as he neither resisted nor reacted to Steve’s hand intruding on his space. Usually Clint was hyper aware and never let anyone in his space but Natasha, and her only rarely.

“It’s fine. Shh. What can I do?” Steve said quietly, cajolingly.

“I...I need Ph-phil!” Clint gasped out, chest heaving and tears pouring down his face.

“Phil?” Steve frowned, thinking.

“C-Coulson!” Clint followed.

Oh. Steve knew, intellectually, that Agent Coulson had been Clint’s (and Natasha’s) handler for almost a decade now. He hadn’t thought about what the two must be going through. Of course, they all felt bad about the agent’s death. They all felt guilty. But for your handler, the person you had to trust with your life over and over again, to die like that...well.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Clint.” Clint shook with the force of his tears and wrapped himself with his arms. Steve’s heart broke. This is what it had felt like when he’d woken up and realized that his entire world was gone, that nothing remained, that everything was broken past recognition. “I can’t make it better, I wish I could.” And then Steve is pulling Clint close for a too-tight hug, ignoring the tears and snot and urine.

Maybe Clint was so upset anyone would do in that moment, but Steve likes to think that some part of Clint recognized him in that moment. Either way, Clint collapsed into Steve like his ability to stand on his own had vanished. Steve didn’t know how long they stood there, his arms wrapped tight around Clint, and Clint’s slowly creeped their way around Steve until he’d been hugging him back, but eventually Clint calmed. With the calm comes shame, and Clint pulled back, looking away, face flushed bright red.

Steve had a couple thousand questions he wanted to ask, but he also wanted to be reassuring. He doesn’t want Clint to feel bad about this, even if it’s….well, not exactly average.

“It’s Loki!” Clint burst out. Steve blinked, confused. Clint flushed harder and wrung his hands. “I mean, since Loki. Sometimes my body isn’t my own. And I…” The man trailed off, but Steve thought he understood. He’d been briefed about what to look for after mind control (though why S.H.I.E.L.D. has a standard briefing for team leaders on that is not something Steve wanted to think too hard about) and while he doesn’t remember this being on the list, he doesn’t think it’s all so different from mood swings and night terrors.

“Okay.”

“I didn’t mean to or nuthin’...wait, what?”

“It’s okay, Clint.”

“But…” Clint is frowning and staring up at Steve in befuddlement. “You’re not angry?”

“No,” Steve says firmly. Clint blinks a couple times and looks like he doesn’t really know what to do now that Steve’s not angry, so Steve takes control. That, at least, will be familiar to them both.

“Why don’t you take a shower, and I’ll take care of this.”

“You don’t have to do that!”

“I know I don’t. I want to.”

“Why?”

That’s a good question. It’s not like Steve loved cleaning up bodily fluids. But there’s something - Clint had just been so broken, and Steve had gotten to help, and Clint had let him help….and well. Steve liked to help.

“You’re my teammate. It’s my job to help you out.” Steve said, not sure that’s the right answer, but not sure that’s it the wrong answer either. Clint frowned again. “Clint, you’re my friend. And I don’t have many of those.”

Clint blinked, face screwing up into an expression Steve couldn’t really make sense of.

“Look, you’ll feel better if you go shower, and I’ll feel better if I...if i can help you out. Okay?” Steve finally said.

Clint nodded slowly. “Okay.” Clint slowly headed into his bedroom while Steve walked towards the kitchen, finding cleaning supplies just where they were kept in his living space. Tony may have had each space designed with them in mind, but some things remained constant across the apartments. This particular feature was probably for the benefit of the cleaning staff who still made Steve feel mildly uncomfortable.

Steve’s mind churned as he went through the motions of cleaning up. The image of Clint broken down and crying, wet and pathetic, whirls in his brain. It evoked familiar feelings in Steve, if he was being totally honest. Steve needed to help - had always needed to help. Probably because he was always being helped, since the moment he was born. Helped to breathe, and to learn to walk, and to get strong enough to run. Helped with school work and household fees when his body wouldn’t (couldn’t) do what other boys’ bodies could. In those days there weren’t a lot of ways for Steve to help the people he cared about - he couldn’t work, he couldn’t fight, he could barely climb the stairs some days. He did what he could, of course. He learned to cook and clean and sew, so that his mother didn’t have to do those things when she came home, bone tired, from a day at the factory. Later, he would do the same things for Bucky.

This wasn’t so different, really. Clint was someone he cared about, little as he knew about the man. Clint was his teammate and had his back, so, yeah. Steve cared. He cared about his teammates more than was really appropriate, probably, given that they’d barely known each other for three months. But hadn’t that always been Steve’s way?

As he finished mopping up the floor and putting the cleaning supplies away, leaving the room smelling faintly of citrus, Steve started picking up, mostly to keep his hands busy. With a pile of clothes in his hands, Steve walked into Clint’s bedroom through the open door. He paused, not sure whether to be surprised or not. Clint’s bed had been stripped of it’s linens and there were multiple yellow patches on the mattress, all at varying stages of fading. Steve supposed he shouldn’t be surprised - he had just walked in on Clint after he wet himself, fully awake. It wasn’t too much of a leap to suspect that Clint would be having issues at night too. Still. All of this was kind of a jump, wasn’t it? None of it fell into Steve’s regular realm of helping but… it did make him want to help. It made him want to wrap Clint in bubble wrap and protect him, if Steve was being totally honest with himself. And he didn’t know what to do with those feelings. For the moment, he dumped his armful of clothes into the laundry chute and headed for the linen closet, only to find it empty of everything but towels. What on earth was Clint doing with the sheets? If they went to the wash, the cleaning crew would return them to the room they came from…

“I didn’t want anybody to find out,” came Clint’s quiet, hesitant, voice from the door to the bathroom. Steve turned toward his teammate. Clint had wrapped his hips in one of the luxurious towels Tony had provided them all with and had a smaller towel draped over his shoulders. He also had his arms crossed protectively over his chest and a blush that spread from his cheek bones to his chest. Steve quirked an eyebrow.

“About the…” Clint continued, waving a hand at the sheetless bed. “So I just, um, throw them down the garbage chute. I know it’s wasteful, but I didn’t...what if the press. Or Tony….” Clint ducked his chin into his chest and looked all of five years old.

“It’s okay. We’ll have to get you some more sheets, is all.” Steve said as gently as he could manage. “I have my own washer and dryer, so, when -”

“Why?” Clint interrupted, frowning up at him, “How?”

“I asked Tony when he was making the rooms up,” Steve admitted, “I just like to do my own laundry. It’s soothing. And…” Steve blushed a bit, but, well, no reason not to after everything he’d learned about Clint today, “There’s so many different detergents now. Some of them make your clothes softer and they smell amazing….” Steve trailed off, running a hand through his hair ruefully.

Clint chuckled, and Steve was glad to hear the noise. It relaxed something tight in his chest.

“Anyway. You’re welcome to bring your laundry to my place, anytime.”

Clint’s face fell again and the blush returned as he looked away from Steve. “I don’t understand why you’re...I mean, why would you…”

Steve struggled to come up with an answer that made sense. He understood his need to help - the need that lay so close to his bones that he didn’t think he’d recognize himself without it. But this was different than fighting the good fight, or stopping a bully, or saving a life. This was different, even, from the domestic chores he had done for his Ma and Bucky, back in the day. Not quite as different, but. Different.

“You’re my friend. For me, that means...taking care of you, however I can. If this is how I can do that best. Well, that makes me feel good. Like I’m doing right by you, I guess.”

Clint frowned up at him, but it was a thoughtful, considering frown, not a disbelieving one.

“And it’s not a big deal for you to bring your laundry to my place. We could...watch a movie or something while it runs. I mean, you don’t have to stay or anything, I just thought…”

“No! I mean, that sounds nice.” Clint said awkwardly. “That would be good.”

“Good.” Steve smiled. “I’ll, um, leave you to get dressed. I’ll have JARVIS order you some more sheets, but I don’t know when they’ll come, so I’ll bring a set of mine by later?” Steve rambled, rubbing the back of his head and smiling at Clint.

Clint smiled tentatively back. As Steve turned to leave, the other man called out, “Thanks, Steve.”

Steve turned around and said, “Of course.”

“No, I mean. Just, thanks for...everything.” Clint waved his hands awkwardly as if to encompass the sheets and the clothes and the cleaning and the hug.

“Anytime,” Steve said, finding himself meaning it.


	2. a little less sure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I wish I could carry that for you," Steve said softly, meaning every word.

 

As it turned out, there were other perks to this arrangement. At least, there were for Steve. The first was that he could keep an eye on how Clint was doing. If he knew how often Clint was wetting the bed (or his pants) he had a sense of how he was (or wasn’t) recovering. The second was the company, which turned out to be pretty regular. Clint almost always watched a movie with Steve when he came to do laundry. The third, which took longer, was the intimacy of friendship that Steve hadn’t had since he woke up in this century.

Clint ended up in Steve’s rooms four or five times a week (though it had taken a couple weeks to reassure Clint that it was okay and he shouldn’t be embarrassed) with a basket of wet linens, pjs, and occasionally jeans. Steve never commented. He quickly learned Clint’s favorite shows (with a little help from JARVIS) and would turn them on as Clint piled his laundry into Steve’s washer, often with Steve’s pick of the month laundry detergent and fabric softener. As much as Clint had made fun of Steve for this tendency in the beginning, Steve had proved the worth of such small luxuries.

Clint was easy to talk to. He had a quick wit, sharp tongue, and great laugh. He reminded Steve painfully and wonderfully of Bucky, and he often wondered what it would have been like if these two men had ever gotten the chance to meet. Clint, like Bucky, softened with time. The first couple times at Steve’s, Clint had been all familiar swagger and reserve that Steve knew from team training and movie nights and dinners. Perhaps it was more pronounced than usual, but Steve chalked that up to the discomfort of having to use your team mate’s washer and dryer because you wet your bed.

When Steve didn’t laugh, or reveal the secret, or force Clint to talk about it, Clint relaxed. He started staying later and ordering pizza for them both (the first time he only ordered a single pizza. Clint was a quick learner too) and introducing Steve to weird Japanese horror movies.

One day they’re sitting at Steve’s breakfast bar, eating Thai food (Steve’s new favorite), when Clint said, out of the blue, “Phil and I were together, before.” Clint’s talked a little about Agent Coulson, and Steve knows that the pain he saw that first, monumental day has not gone away in the months they have been friends. But with that statement, Steve’s heart broke all over again for Clint. Steve never really dated, was never really interested in anyone. In the future, there were words for that, but Steve didn’t know if he was ready to call himself anything. There’d been so much else in his life to focus on....well, who really knew.

But he knew was it was to love. He knew what it was to love and to lose, violently, and painfully, and suddenly. Clint and he haven’t touched, not since that first day, except when there legs and hands bump on the couch or over popcorn and pizza. Steve reached a hand out and lay it over Clint’s.

“I wish I could carry that for you.” Steve said softly, meaning every word.

Clint looked up at him, body folded up and defensive. He softened under Steve’s glance. “You do. I mean, you help. This helps.”

“Good.”

And they went back to eating Thai.

After that, Clint talked about Phil more. He talked about how they got together (it was a mission, and they were undercover, and their cover was as a couple, and suddenly they realized it was all too real) and how big a Captain America fan Phil really was (“You should see the collection of Halloween photos his mom kept, man! Every fucking year!”), and he talked about what it feels like to sleep alone now (“That’s when everything is the most”).

He started to talk about other things, too. Not a lot, and never with much feeling, but Steve holds these things with the care and trust he knows they deserve. He talked about his alcoholic father and his manic-depressive mother. He talked about foster homes and orphanages. He talked about Barney. He talked about running away and the circus and the slippery, dangerous path he had taken after. And Steve can’t help but think that Clint never had any childhood at all.

They don’t talk about the thing that started all this, or the piles of wet sheets and clothes, or the bags under Clint’s eyes but once.

_It had been six weeks, and Steve had to ask, because he is team leader and he has to know that Hawkeye is up to snuff (team evals are due the next week). He had to ask because Clint is his friend, and he’s worried._

_“Clint - I don’t want to force you to talk about this.”_

_Clint was standing in the door with a pile of laundry, on top of which are the jeans that Clint was wearing this morning at breakfast._

_“But I need to know, if it’s a health, or if Loki - “_

_Clint’s body folded in, becoming tighter and smaller and Steve wished he didn’t have to ask._

_“I’ve never been good at. I mean, even when I was a kid I…. and Phil knew. It’s just...more now.”_

_Steve nodded. “That’s all I needed to know. Should I put on Addams Family or the Animaniacs?”_

But that all changes, as things are want to do.

It was a Wednesday and Steve was at SHIELD, signing off on paperwork, filling out forms, and looking at case files. Mostly, Maria Hill does this, as their official liaison, but Steve oversees all of her decisions after she put Bruce in the field doing undercover work. Steve liked what SHIELD stood for, but he’d never been one for bureaucracy, hierarchy, or order. And he cared too much about his team to have them fucked with.

His phone rang, which was rare. Tony and Clint preferred text. Natasha sent emails or pictures. Thor just showed up where ever Steve was. Bruce quietly knocked on his door after dinner. A picture of Clint had popped up (Clint was making a face at the camera and sitting on Steve’s couch), so Steve quickly picked it up.

“Clint?” He asked, already concerned. His concern only picked up as he heard hitched breathing and restrained sobs.

“S-steve? Y-you’re at SH-SHIELD, r-ight?” Clint’s voice was tight and upset, like Steve hadn’’t heard since - Steve’s stomach sank. He had a terrible feeling he knew exactly what had happened, and if Clint was calling...and asking if he was at SHIELD….

“Yes,” Steve said, already standing up. “Where are you Clint? I’m coming.”

“I-I uh, I uhm…” Clint tried to say.

“I know, Clint.” Steve said, as gently as he could manage.

A sob escaped Clint. “I’m in the b-b-bathroom by the range,” Clint said through sniffles.

“Okay. I’ll be there in two minutes.” Steve stayed on the phone as he hurried through the halls, stopping only at a SHIELD supply closet to grab a set of standard issue sweats in Clint’s size. The range is empty when Steve reaches it, and he thanked God for small mercies as he opened the men’s door. The final stall was the only one that was locked. With a little extra strength, Steve jammed the doorknob so that no one could come in to the bathroom after him.

“Clint? It’s Steve.”

“Steve,” Clint whimpered, and Steve felt all his protective urges come to the forefront.

“It’s okay. It’s okay, Clint. Can you open the door?”

Clint hitched back a couple sobs before Steve heard the lock slide out of place and the door swung out. Clint stood there, wearing his standard work out gear - a pair of athletic pants and a dark t-shirt. The pants clung wetly to Clint’s legs. Clint’s face was covered in tears. Steve set down the sweats and pulled Clint into his arms.

Like all those months ago, Clint collapsed into Steve. This time, his arms came straight around Steve and he started to cry even harder. Moved by his protective urges, Steve picked Clint up, grateful for his strength. Clint startled for a moment, but then wrapped his legs around Steve’s waist and tucked his head into Steve’s neck.

“Shhh…” Steve soothed gently, using one hand to support Clint’s weight by swooping it under the boy’s bottom. The other he brought up to gently rub Clint’s back. He kept at it until Clint finally relaxed against him and the sobs petered out.

“I brought you some clean clothes, buddy.” Steve said gently, carrying Clint out to the main area of the bathroom and setting him on the counter next to the sinks. “Let’s get you cleaned up and in some dry clothes and go home, okay? Everything will look better then.”

“Steve,” Clint whispered. “I need your help.” Steve looked at him carefully. Clint looked very young and vulnerable. And...there was something different in his face. Something different than the Clint who ate pizza and yelled at actors in the movies and liked to sit balanced on the back of the couch, just to fuck with Steve. This was a different Clint.

“Clint,” Steve replied, worried, “Are you -”

“It’s - I can’t explain right. And you’ll hate me if I do.” The sobs were hitching back into Clint’s chest, and Steve hated to see it, but he had to know that everything was all right. That Clint was...himself. He said as much, and Clint nodded.

“Yeah. That’s...that’s good. I mean, that you’d check... It’s, it’s uhm, called, um. Ageplay.” Clint whispered. “It’s when...I dunno, when someone needs to not be the age they are, I guess? Sometimes I just feel littler than I should.”

Steve surprised himself by relaxing at this information. This wasn’t mind control or a spell or a mental break down.

“Is this something you did with Phil?”

Clint’s face creased up and his body condensed into itself as he said, “No. I mean, he knew. I told him. And he still...loved me, I guess. It just wasn’t something he could do with me.”

“You did it on your own?” Steve couldn’t help how concerned his voice sounded. Clint looked up at Steve, a surprised look on his face.

“I. Sometimes. When I could. But I’d rather...I mean it’s not…”  
“Okay.” Steve said.

“Okay?” Clint sounded bewildered.

“I think I understand. I need to… do some research, but Clint. I don’t want you to do this by yourself. You shouldn’t be alone when you’re little.”

“Steve, no! I mean, I wasn’t asking for you to...do anything. Or nuthin. I just. I need help right now.”

“I want to help you now,” Steve murmured. “I want to help you always, in every way that I can. And I think I can do this. I can’t promise. But...I think I want to.”

“Steve…” Clint was looking up at him, a complex mix of emotions flickering across his face. He shifted in his wet clothes, and Steve was brought back to present moment.

“We’ll talk about this more later, okay? Right now I can help. So, I will.” Clint opened his mouth to protest and then shut it quickly and Steve briskly pulled Clint’s t-shirt up and over his head. The boy shivered. Steve used one arm to quickly shift Clint up as he pulled down the sopping wet pants and boxers. Clint blushed, and brought his hands up to cover his genitals. Steve allowed this momentarily as he wet the t-shirt (mostly clean) with warm water and soap.

“I need to touch you. Is that okay?” Clint stared at Steve for a long moment. Then he moved his hands and nodded. Briskly, Steve wiped down Clint’s genitals, legs, and bum, trying to be as clinical as possible. He wrung out the t-shirt and with fresh water quickly rinsed Clint off. Steve retrieved the sweats and with the same brisk efficiency, pulled them into place. With that, he picked Clint up again.

Clint seemed non-plussed by the entire encounter, but he buried his face into Steve’s neck and relaxed against his body, so Steve tried not to worry too much. Steve called for a SHIELD car to come to the side entrance. Pausing briefly to throw out the workout clothes, Steve quickly walked outside and got into the car. Conveniently the range was right by one of SHIELD’s many alleyway entrances and exits. The car had tinted windows and a partition for privacy. The driver took off as soon as Steve closed the door.

Clint fell asleep on the way back to the tower, which wasn’t shocking. After the car pulled them into the private garage Tony kept so they could enter and exit the tower privately, Steve hefted Clint up again and took him up to Steve’s floor. Steve tucked Clint into his own bed and headed straight for his computer to do some research. Given how out Clint was, Steve guessed he had at least a couple hours before Clint would be up again.

To his surprise, there was a lot of stuff out there. Most of it was useless or confusing. Some of it was about sex, which, uhm. Steve tried not to judge, but that wasn’t something he could do. Ever. He hoped that this wasn’t about sex for Clint.  
There were a lot of different terms and words and guidelines and mostly what Steve learned was that he needed to have a good, long chat with Clint. But also, that if they fit together this way, then this could be...amazing. It could be everything that Steve had ever needed - to know that someone trusted him completely and relied on him and would need him, no matter what. That they wouldn’t say no to Steve helping, because that was his job, and that was the agreement….  
Steve found himself hoping beyond all that Clint and he would fit in this way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos and comments. The next chapter will be out next week, probably on Thursday or Friday.


	3. a whole lot more like me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Steve thought. This is what I want.

 

Just as Steve felt he had finished acquiring some basic knowledge and started bookmarking a couple links for future reference, he heard the toilet flush and the sink turn on.Closing down the browser, Steve turned around just in time to see Clint emerge from Steve’s bedroom. Steve smiled. Clint looked relaxed and sleep muddled, and was rubbing at one eye with his fist.

 _Yes,_ Steve thought. _This is what I want._

“Hey bud, how was your nap?” Steve asked. 

Clint blinked up at him and flushed a little bit. His hands fell to fiddle with the edge of the t-shirt. 

“You didn’t have to let me sleep in your bed. What if I’d…” Clint mumbled. 

Steve shrugged as he set his laptop to the side and patted the seat beside him, “Beds wash.” 

Clint flopped down beside him, looking somewhere between where he was in the bathroom earlier and his usual self. “I guess it’s time to face up to the music, huh?” Clint said, sounding resigned. 

“I did some reading while you were asleep.” Steve admitted. “And I do have some questions.”

“Might as well get it over with,” Clint remarked, pulling his knees up into his chest and hunching his shoulders into them until he was just a ball of man. Steve hurt, looking at him. He wanted to reach out and soothe. _Soon,_ he told himself sternly.  

“Is it about sex?” Steve blurted out. Clint looked up at him with wide, startled eyes. “It’s just, on the internet. A lot of people...it, they wanted to have sex when they were little and -”

“No! God no!” Clint said, looking a little alarmed. 

“Oh, thank goodness.” They were both staring at each other in relief. Clint started to laugh and Steve joined him, thankful for the break in tension.

“Yeah, it’s not about sex for me. Not even a little bit.” Clint said as their chuckles died down. 

“What is it about? I mean - why…” Steve trailed off, not sure how to ask the question he needed to ask. Clint frowned thoughtfully, a little crease between his brows. The serious mood was back, but he didn’t feel as oppressive as before.

“I dunno, really. I just...I mean, little me is always there, I guess. It’s almost like they’re separate. Me and little me, I mean. Like, he has his needs and wants and I do too, and they don’t always go together.” 

Steve nodded thoughtfully.

“I haven’t...explored it much, really. I mean, I figured it out a couple years back, and that other people did it, but I’ve never had someone to do it with me and alone it’s not really what I needed.” Clint’s shoulders had relaxed slightly, but he was looking anywhere but Steve and a delicate blush covered his nose and cheeks.

“What do you need?” Steve asked. Clint shrugged and blushed a little harder. “Clint? It’s okay. I’m not judging you or anything. I want to see if what you need and what I need matches up, is all.”

Clint finally turned to look at him, eyebrows drawn down and eyes quizzical, “What you need?”

Steve tried hard not to blush, but probably failed, “I was reading about this...and it felt right. I’ve always wanted to help and people won’t usually let me help as much as I want. I think, maybe, if I could be someone’s….someone’s big. Or...Daddy…” Steve trailed off, voice quiet.

“Oh.” Clint paused, looking at Steve for a long moment, “That’s really what you want?” 

“Yeah.” Steve sighed.

“Me too.” Clint whispered. “I want you to be my Daddy.”

Steve perked up, “Really?” Clint nodded and Steve could no longer restrain himself. He scooped Clint up into a tight hug. Clint melted into him and this time Steve knew that it was because it was him - that Clint wouldn’t have reacted to anyone, that he wanted Steve there just as much as Steve wanted to be there.

They sat together like that for several long moments, before Clint shifted gently out of Steve’s arms. “We should talk about...everything, before I get too small.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.” Steve sighed and sat back.

“I - I don’t know how to do this. I mean, I guess...you said you had questions…” 

“We can start there, yeah.” Steve said, more calmly than he was really feeling. “We’ll figure it out together. Uhm. We should both think of a safeword, I think.” 

“Yeah. Is kiwi alright? I’m allergic, so I’ll never eat it.” 

“Yeah, that works.” Steve said, tucking this new piece of information away. Had that been in Clint’s file? He couldn’t remember. “So, uh, how old do you usually…”

Clint flushed and fiddled with his hands nervously. “Uhm, maybe around three or four? Sometimes younger, I guess. It might be different now than it was before…” 

“That makes sense,” Steve nodded gently. “Are there particular things you like to do when you’re feeling little?” 

“I, uh, I have some legos I play with. Uhm, and a blanki- blanket. But… I mean, I think...I want…” 

Steve gave an encouraging little noise as Clint’s voice petered out. 

“I mean, I never had a lot - of toys, growin’ up. And nuthin I got ta’ keep.” A little midwest was creeping into Clint’s voice and Steve wasn’t exactly sure what that meant. “But I felt weird, gettin any for myself, y’know. I always...well. I dunno.”

“I think that we should go get some toys together, sometime, how does that sound? We can go to a store and pick things out that you like now?” Steve suggested as Clint’s throat visibly tightened.

Clint sighed and relaxed a little. “Yeah. And...and uhm, maybe some books? Nobody ever- “ 

Steve’s felt his throat close a little in sympathy. He knew from Clint’s file that the man had severe dyslexia and had been mostly illiterate before starting at SHIELD. It wasn’t hard to imagine that no one had taken the time to read to him as a child. 

“I love to read, and there are a lot of books I need to catch up on, now. That sounds like a great plan.”

Clint smiled tentatively up at Steve, looking a little softer around his shoulders.

“What about other things… clothes? or , uhm, sippy cups or bottles?” Steve asked carefully. 

Clint blushed and immediately protested, “I’m not a baby!”

Steve had to hide a smile. “I know you’re not a baby, bud. So no bottle, huh?” 

“Nuhuh!” 

“Okay. Uh…” Steve ruffled his hair, trying to figure out how to start this particular conversation. “A lot of littles, uhm, online. They like to use...uhm diapers, or pull ups.”

Clint blushed bright red and immediately tucked his face into his knees.

“I’m not gonna make you do anything you don’t want to, alright, Clint? But I was thinking that for right now, when you’re little, it might be good? Especially if you fall asleep little.”

Clint’s shoulders shook. Steve felt sympathy tears choking up his own chest. Gently he reached out a hand and lay it on Clint’s shoulder. Slowly, ever so slowly, he pulled Clint up into his lap. Clint sat tensely for a moment, face still hidden, before collapsing against Steve’s chest. 

“I-I’m s-sorr-ree,” Clint choked out. “I-I sh-shouldn’t d-do...I d-don’t n-need...I…” 

“Deep breaths, buddy. If this isn’t something that feels okay, I’m not going to make you wear them. I just thought...well, it would be a way to let go of some of it, y’know. When you’re little, that could be my job, it wouldn’t be your job at all. And this is one way we could do that.”

Clint stilled in Steve’s arms. “I always worry,” He whispered. 

“I know,” Steve murmured into Clint’s hair. “And I know it’s getting better, too.”

“Not a lot.” Clint said back. Steve just hugged tighter. “Alright.”

“Alright?” Steve asked quizzically.

“I’ll try ‘em. But, uh. I want you to pick. And if I don’t like it…” 

“We’ll stop right away,” Steve agreed. “Is there anything else you need or want when you’re little, or anything you don’t?”

“Don’t want to be a baby,” Clint repeated. Steve laughed and nodded. “Uhm, food is hard for me,” He admitted softly, “So I need you to be patient. I might get big when it’s time to eat.”

“That’s fine,” Steve said, tucking this info away to ask about another day.

“I, uh, I liked it when you carried me,” Clint said with a blush, “And helped me clean up and get dressed. And that you picked my clothes, that was nice.”

“I liked helping you with those things too,” Steve agreed softly. “Are there any special clothes you want for when you’re little?”

Clint fiddled with his hands, “I always wanted some of those footie pajamas, but we couldn’t afford ‘em. But I don’t think they make those in my size. I like silly t-shirts. Just mostly soft things, I think.”

“Alright,” Steve said, deciding that he would get Clint a pair of footy pajamas if he had to sew them himself. Clint looked up at him with shy eyes, body soft.

Carefully, he got to his feet. “Okay. Clint, do you want to play a little right now? You can show me your toys?” There was way more that had to be discussed, but Clint was clearly edging on little right now, and Steve needed to know that he could have those conversations with big Clint. 

Clint brightened immediately, “Yeah!”

Clint shifted fully quicker than Steve had thought possible, and was looking younger around his eyes by the time Steve reached the elevator. Steve could feel the beginning of something shifting in his head too.

It had been a hard, long day, more confusing than a lot of days Steve had had over the last six months, which was definitely saying something. But there was also something reassuring and grounding about Clint’s weight on his hip and arm, Clint’s arm swung around Steve’s neck to steady himself, and the quiet, tiny, emerging smile on Clint’s lips as he peeked glances up at Steve. There would be a lot of long, hard days to come, but Steve knew, for the first time since he woke up, that there would be something to look forward to at the end of them.

  
_fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who would like to see more of little Clint and Daddy Steve's developing relationship, have no fear. There are at least four sequels to this story that are almost complete. I'll be posting chapters once a week as I finish fixing and finishing! Thank you for reading, leaving kudos, and commenting. It is always much appreciated!


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